


Thief in the Night

by Odaigahara



Series: Tales from the Dark Side [5]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders is a Dark Side, Background Dark Sides (Sanders Sides), Ballroom Dancing, Cinderella Elements, Costume Parties & Masquerades, Dark Sides and Light Sides Never Meet, Dubious Consent Due To Identity Issues, Imagination, M/M, Minor Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders/Deceit Sanders, Sympathetic Dark Creativity | Remus “The Duke” Sanders, Sympathetic Deceit Sanders
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:14:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21589819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Odaigahara/pseuds/Odaigahara
Summary: Virgil had never been in such a well lit place- had never met so many strangers, never danced outside of his or Deceit's room, never gone into a crowd without raising his hackles to keep from being harassed. In the Dark Side, any show of weakness or gentleness was a death sentence: there were maybe twenty of them to the three Light Sides, and every one of them had a vicious streak a mile wide.Dark Sides didn't have friends. They barely had people they could trust to have their back. They definitely didn't have parties."What are we supposed to do again?" Virgil asked weakly.*Or:It was supposed to be a one time thing. They were supposed to sneak into the Imagination, steal something for Remus from Creativity, and get out.Virgil didn't count on meeting someone he'd want to see again.
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders & Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders & Deceit Sanders, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Creativity | Roman “Princey” Sanders
Series: Tales from the Dark Side [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1523426
Comments: 57
Kudos: 249
Collections: Sander Sides





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this uses headcanons from "Tales From the Dark Side," which is the series it's a part of. It's possible you might want to read the summary of that series, if you're confused as to what AU this is exactly.
> 
> Minor edits for flow/grammar may occur later.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Virgil and Deceit infiltrate a royal ball.

The fairy-tale castle was lit by thousands of gold and silver lights that snaked around the ramparts and framed the entryway like Christmas decorations, casting a warm metallic glow onto the costumed guests. Carriages decked out in rich garlands pulled up to the stairs, drawn by sleek horses with flowers braided in their manes. Twilight had washed the color from the sky, purple and deep blue seeping through like inks to dye the horizon black; it made the fairy lights stand out even brighter. The huge doors of the castle opened to let the milling guests inside, and as the costumed nobles entered, a crowd of fireworks burst into the air.

Virgil jumped and hissed at the sky on reflex; Deceit snickered and stepped on his foot, shoving him just a little when Virgil glared. "Stay in character, won't you? We wouldn't want to be turned back at the gate."

"Wouldn't we?" Virgil muttered, nerves skyrocketing. So many _people_. They were all imaginary, but their presence still set him on edge. He'd never been around a crowd this big himself, only guided Thomas through similar situations; this was not encouraging him to put Thomas in more of those. "They're looking at us. Dee, what do I do if they're _looking at us_."

"Of course they are," Deceit murmured, pasting on a vague excited look and looping his arm in Virgil's. "We're new guests, in truly _delightful_ outfits. They're being admiring."

Deceit was decked out in snazzy black and yellow, half his face concealed by a filigreed golden mask. His cape was longer than usual, patterned with gold with a high collar and an ouroboros brooch clasping it on. Virgil, meanwhile, was dressed like some kind of black-and-purple ballroom vampire, with an outfit accented with ruffles and spiderweb patterns; his face was painted white under an intricate masquerade design, cobweb patterns inked black around his eyes and curling over his cheekbones, filled in with soft lavender. He hadn't recognized himself when Deceit had guided him to the mirror. 

"Okay, but what if I fuck up," Virgil hissed under his breath as they ascended the steps. "Do those guards have swords? If they have swords we're going to die. This whole plan is stupid, and you're stupid for coming up with it, and I'm stupid for going _along_ with it-"

Deceit twitched a hand, and Virgil's palm slapped over his mouth. "Please, feel _free_ to make a scene _._ " Virgil snatched his hand down and glowered.

Deceit dragged Virgil past the herald before he could get their names, stepping around a corner to avoid his intense gaze. The extravagant guests cheered and chattered as each new arrival was announced; Virgil and Deceit used the distraction to sneak in after one of the decked-out servants through a side door.

Virgil couldn't help worrying. "How are you supposed to avoid getting lost? Do you even know where he _keeps_ them?"

"Of course I don't, Virgil, when do I _ever_ make _plans,_ that's so _unlike_ me-" Deceit pulled them to the side as another servant bustled past; they followed her, skulking in the shadows, until she opened a smaller door and it flooded the passage with light. " _Stay in character_."

"I've got a bad feeling about this-"

They left the passage and entered the ballroom, and for one wondering second, all of Virgil's anxiety fell away. Holy _shit._

Gold, gold, and gold, on the walls and the floor and above them on the damascened ceiling, glittering off the crystals of the massive chandelier. The room was longer than a football field, with tables of food at the sides and waiters dipping through the crowd with trays, and the crowd was _huge_. As they watched, the orchestra finished tuning and struck up a waltz, and the dancers swirled into motion; every one of them was masked or painted, a work of art in themselves.

Virgil had never been in such a well lit place- had never met so many strangers, never danced outside of his or Deceit's room, never gone into a crowd without raising his hackles to keep from being harassed. In the Dark Side, any show of weakness or gentleness was a death sentence: there were maybe twenty of them to the three Light Sides, and every one of them had a vicious streak a mile wide.

Dark Sides didn't have friends. They barely had people they could trust to have their back. They _definitely_ didn't have parties.

"What are we supposed to do again?" Virgil asked weakly. For once, Deceit didn't snap at him for forgetting the plan. 

"They definitely aren't anything like NPC's, and they definitely don't act according to their archetypes with a few subversions. You should be careful around countesses or elitist nobles, kind to servants, and vapid in conversation. They may give you quest hooks or plot cues, but you should ignore them. They'll identify you as a Side, and you can't let Creativity know you aren't a construct."

Virgil nodded, biting his lip. Okay. Yeah. He could do that. "What about Creativity? I can't actually tell people's faces with all the costumes."

"There's absolutely no way you'll know him when you see him," Deceit said unhelpfully. He gave Virgil a little push and added, "Have a horrible time. The food is terrible and you shouldn't eat any of it. I'm going to go take actions that aren't suspicious."

"Good luck," Virgil murmured, because he wasn't that much of a jerk; Deceit smirked and stepped away to disappear into the crowd, leaving him adrift in a sea of strangers.

Virgil took a second to panic, then another to calm his breathing; then he inched his way along the edge of the ballroom until he reached one of the the heaping tables of food. The variety was bewitching: rich, fragrant roasted meats, honeyed fruits and lavender petals, glistening pastries and thick stews and a vegetable pie that shouldn’t have looked good but _totally did_. Virgil glanced around- a spread like this had to have someone watching it, right?- then grabbed a plate, piling it high with everything he could find. The smell was already making his mouth water.

They didn’t get food like this in the Dark Side. They didn’t get much food at all, and if Virgil wanted any he had to fight for it. He wasn’t about to let this chance slip by. He took his plate, balanced carefully between his hands, and retreated back to the sidelines- or tried to, because that was when a hand clapped down on his shoulders and he jumped out of his skin. 

“Whoa!” The stranger leaned around him and steadied the plate with one hand, then bobbed out from behind him and grinned at Virgil’s expression. His voice was rich and smooth, grand where Deceit’s was honeyed and melodic where his brother's was grating; his face was Thomas in his element, Thomas on a stage. Virgil could feel the entire ballroom center around him, like he was a planet with the world in his orbit. _You’ll know him when you see_ _him_. Talk about an understatement. "Slow down, my good sir! Leave some for the children.”

Creativity was dressed in blinding white and red, gold-edged and effortlessly gallant like a storybook prince. His red mask covered the space around his eyes and not much else; around it, his face was accessorized with gold paint and something that looked suspiciously like body glitter. Virgil, who had never seen a Light Side before, could only think distantly that he was _pretty._

He was frozen, feet locked in place, but Deceit’s constant drilling paid off. “You’ll forgive me for contradicting you,” he said, “but I don’t actually see any children here, so.”

Creativity rolled his eyes. “There could be children,” he said. “You never can know what might occur, at parties like these.” Was he-? Yep, that was a sex joke. Creativity's sly, mirthful smile said it all.

Virgil couldn’t help himself. “Are you hitting on me, Princey?" 

Creativity went pink and fumbled a little; Virgil had to make a little dip to grab his plate again. "Wha- no, I- who did you say you were again? I don't believe I've seen you before." And he would have created everyone here, or at least the baselines for their character types, _fuck_.

What was the stupid name Deceit had given him for this? He couldn't remember- had it started with an A?- but Creativity was staring at him and his face was burning beneath the makeup and his heart was beating out of his chest, would it hurt when the guards ran him through- "Virgil," he blurted out, "I'm a viscount of, uh, the West." He pushed down the horror at having used his _real fucking name_ and added, throat tight, "And of course you don't need any introduction. My prince."

Creativity brightened. "No, I don't suppose I do, do I?" He looked tremendously pleased with himself, and when he caught Virgil's eye it was like being slammed by a moving train made entirely of geniality. Virgil reeled. "Will I see you on the dance floor, Viscount Virgil of the Western Kingdom?"

"After I've finished eating, I gu- I suppose," Virgil said with some struggle. 

Princey's lip curled up in a grin. "I'll look forward to it," he said, and then he was gone in the crowd. Virgil reminded his knees of their purpose, namely _holding him up so he didn't make a scene while trespassing,_ and retreated to the far corner of the ballroom, where a few tables were set up. 

Deceit was already at one of them, lounging and talking to one of the randomly-generated guests. She was a white woman in a pink dress and mask, and her tittering trailed off completely at Virgil's approach. "Oh? And who's this, Baron Anguis?" Baron _what?_ God, maybe it was good that Virgil hadn't used whatever name Deceit had thought up for him. 

"This is my dear friend the Viscount-"

"Virgil," Virgil blurted out. "Viscount Virgil, of the, um, Western Kingdom." Deceit took a second to stare at him, obviously aghast, before smoothing his expression over into something more courteous. 

"Of course. _Virgil,_ this is Duchess Elaine. She met her true love a week ago, and she's seeking the prince's help to find her again."

"I seek your help as well, Sir Baron," the Duchess NPC said. Her eyes were remarkably lifelike for someone with about the same amount of programming as a video game. "Or yours would do just as well, Viscount Virgil." 

"I think it'd be better if you look for the prince instead," Virgil said carefully. "While I, uh, speak to my friend in private." The Duchess curtsied to him and left as gracefully as she'd appeared, and Virgil put the plate of food between them, not even bristling when Deceit stole a pastry and swallowed it whole. He _knew_ Deceit only did that to freak him out. He wasn't going to fall for it again.

Deceit made direct eye contact, grabbed what looked like a turkey leg, and stretched his jaw- "Oh my fucking god, would you stop that?"

"I can't imagine why I would, Viscount _Virgil_ of the Western Kingdom _._ _What_ was that about?"

"I met Creativity and panicked," Virgil muttered, crossing his arms and glancing away. Deceit kicked him under the table and he glared, then crossed his arms harder. Fuck propriety. He was never going to fit in here anyway. Virgil pulled off one of his gloves and grabbed a honeyed fruit slice to pop it into his mouth, brightening a little at the burst of luxurious sweetness on his tongue.

He licked the honey off his fingertips and reached for another; Deceit pulled the plate away and hissed, "Gloves _on_ , and you definitely shouldn't be using a fork, you heathen. You're a _Viscount_."

"You just unhinged your jaw like a fucking snake!" Virgil hissed back.

"Yes, and I _totally_ don't know how to be discreet." Virgil glowered and pulled his glove back on, then grabbed a fork and stabbed it into another fruit slice. 

"Did you at least get what we came here for?" he asked grudgingly. Deceit's annoyance smoothed out into smugness. Virgil resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

"Naturally not," Deceit said, which meant he totally had. "I can't say our mutual ally will be pleased."

Now Virgil _did_ roll his eyes. Forget _pleased;_ Remus was going to be fucking _ecstatic._ Virgil and Deceit had come to the Imagination in the first place to steal one of Creativity's prized "artifacts," the semi-permanent objects he made to entertain himself throughout his fantastical romps. He was protective of them, which was one of the many reasons Remus had wanted one of his things in the first place- but, more importantly, Remus was the only other Side who could use the things without worrying about turning into a newt or whatever. The three of them had a few important reasons to want a powerful weapon that one of them could use. "Which is it?"

"It's _not_ a sword that turns people into zombies," Deceit said, still smug, "and it definitely _won't_ be used to unkind ends."

Virgil wondered if it could zombify Sides and decided it was better not to ask.

They spent the next few minutes eating, until the music changed to something a little more lively. Deceit lightened a little, then rose and stretched out a hand. "May I have the absolute honor of this first dance?"

"Fuck off," Virgil grumbled, but he got to his feet and took Deceit's hand anyway. Deceit loved this kind of fancy performance, even if he'd never admit it. Might as well humor him. "Where'd you put it, anyway?"

Deceit brought out a third hand and waved it, then disappeared it just as quickly. He was holding it, then, in one of the pockets where he kept his other arms. Virgil guessed that was a smart hiding place.

He led Virgil to the edge of the dance floor, which was already way closer to the crowd than he'd ever wanted to be. Virgil thought about how easy it'd be for one of the guests to stab them in the back and tensed up. "I'll be leading."

"Knock yourself out," Virgil said, strained, and then he was stepping to the music, one hand on Deceit's shoulder and the other on his waist. He could _feel_ his face burning. It felt like every person in the room was staring right at them. He fumbled and stepped on Deceit's foot, making Deceit almost trip on his cape. He glared. Virgil grimaced.

"I've changed my mind. This is _still_ stupid, and we're stupid for doing it-" 

"Shut up. We're switching partners," Deceit warned under his breath, and then Virgil was being co-opted by a dark-skinned man in a dashing green outfit who looked suspiciously like Leslie Odom Jr. He gritted his teeth and tried to answer vaguely during the ensuing conversation, and then he was with a white guy all in black, an old dowager with wandering hands (ugh, too realistic), a young woman with bright purple eyes, and-

"Fancy meeting you here!" Creativity said, looking bizarrely happy to see him, and Virgil was so relieved at the prospect of a _real person_ that he smiled back, some of the tension bleeding out of his spine. Stupid, considering that Creativity was a stranger who literally _controlled_ all the dead-eyed automatons around them. The other Side held out a hand, ridiculous hopeful. "May I have this dance?"

What would happen if Virgil said no? He wondered briefly. Would it blow his cover? Could anyone in this Light Side's fairy kingdom deny him anything? Virgil was _so_ tempted to give in to his burgeoning panic attack and run for it, get out of this crowd and these strangers and this foreign domain- but Princey's smile faltered, almost _hurt_ for a second, and before Virgil could think better of it, he took his hand. 

"I don't actually really like dancing," he hedged, but he placed his hand awkwardly on Creativity's waist anyway. The hands on _his_ waist and shoulder felt like brands. "It's... not really my th- interest."

"Your _Thinterest?_ That sounds more like a critique of modern social media than a reason to object," Creativity said teasingly. Virgil forced his face blank- was he talking about Pinterest? _Why?_ \- and once again the other Side's smile faltered, before coming back stronger. "How could you hate _dancing?_ It's the ultimate form of creative expression, a language spoken with one's entire body!" He ducked under Virgil's arm and twirled, apparently just at the thought. Virgil felt his face burn hotter. _What._

"I've always seen it as an excuse to get drunk and stand way too close to strangers, personally," he managed. The waltz changed to something more folksy and festive, and the dancers around them got faster, whirling around the floor.

Virgil felt his familiar restlessness grow into nerves, about to spill over into _terror._ Princey leaned in close and whispered, "Just follow my lead," and half in desperation, Virgil nodded and tightened his grip-

And they were flying. Princey dragged him into a circle of dancers, all spinning around each other and stomping. He hooked elbows with him out of self-defense and tried to match his steps- Thomas' knowledge helped him, muscle memory he didn't have springing into his feet- and spun into a stranger's arms- another stranger- and then Creativity again, twirling him and grinning, face all red. 

They rejoined the circle and traded again, Princey dancing with that same old dowager and Virgil with a warm-eyed servant boy, before Princey literally _lunged_ through the crowd and managed to catch him again for the next round.

"Was that even allowed?" Virgil sputtered, visions of colliding dancers and serious injuries to old people dancing in his head. Creativity only laughed.

"We're better dancers than _that_ in the capitol!"

"You _literally_ elbowed someone out of the way, my _prince,_ so clearly they're just used to _your_ antics-"

Creativity put a shocked hand to his chest. "Rude!"

"Switching again!" and they were lost in the crowd, rhythm pulling them along.

Virgil felt exhilarated, ridiculously happy with the rush of blood from all the quick movement; he realized he was laughing. Princey spun up beside him again, dragging him out to the middle of the ballroom floor as the NPC's dropped off, and it didn't even feel like being abandoned. Instead, it felt like clearing away debris, like he and Princey and Deceit in the corner were the only three people in the world. Like the world had gotten quieter just for him. 

Virgil wasn't sure what was going on, but he thought he might be okay with it. He was wearing another face, and Deceit was there for backup, and maybe he could have fun just this once...

Princey grinned at him, fearless and unwary, and Virgil took advantage of his adrenaline-fueled courage and stuck out a hand. "May I have this dance?" he asked, only a little ironically. 

Creativity _giggled._ There wasn't even another word for it. Virgil felt his heart leap into his throat. "I thought you'd never ask." He took a step back and bowed, deep with his arm swept over his chest; Virgil stared, then startled a little and copied him, heart stuttering a little at the motion. Not that he thought Princey was about to pull out a sword and behead him right there, but he'd had it beaten into him since he'd _formed_ not to take his eyes off another Side. 

He rose and took Creativity's offered hand, and in the background the orchestra switched to something slow and soft. Virgil stepped forward- Creativity stepped back- and the gold of the room stared back at him, reflected in Princey's eyes-

The music swept them both away. Virgil led, by some miracle not tripping over his feet, and flung Princey away, let him spin back into his arms, stepped around him and snorted when Princey spun into him too fast and they both almost toppled over. "Sorry," Princey said, lips quirked in an embarrassed smile, "I'm not used to following."

"Yeah, well, I'm not used to _dancing,_ so we're both flying blind."

They danced around the widened circle of onlookers; Virgil flinched at the attention, but Princey basked in it, eyes growing brighter with every set of eyes that followed him. The song rose to a crescendo and Princey twirled _Virgil,_ startling him enough that he almost fell out of rhythm completely.

And then the end of the song, building to a finale as they whirled around the room- one more twirl, Virgil on tiptoes so Princey could get under his arm, and then their eyes met and he dipped him and for one moment it _held,_ both of them suspended as the last notes of the orchestra faded-

They overbalanced and toppled to the ground. Virgil laid on the floor gasping, laughing and winded from Princey's knee going right to his gut; Princey said from beside him, voice high with mirth, "Oof. How dignified."

"Ladies and gentlemen, your prince has fallen," Virgil snickered. He pulled himself half-upright and poked Creativity in the shoulder. "There. You've been assassinated."

"I charge you all to avenge me," Creativity said, or tried to, because his voice broke halfway through and dissolved into undignified laughter. He finally pushed to his feet and pulled Virgil up with him, flushed and sheepish. His suit was crinkled from where he'd broken Virgil's fall. "Are you... quite all _right_ , Virgil?"

"Fine," Virgil squeaked. He dragged his eyes away from Princey's elated smile and adjusted his own costume, wishing fervently for pockets to stick his hands into. No such luck. "Uh. You? I mean, are you- you're not injured or something, right, because that would be bad-"

"I'm fine," Creativity said reassuringly. " _More_ than fine, I-" His voice trailed off, and the glee slipped from his face, replaced by a more tentative expression. Virgil braced, suddenly petrified, but all he said was, "Will I- that is, can I- see you again? Is there some- thing you need from me?"

Virgil's mind blanked. See him again? This was a one night thing. He was just tagging along for Deceit's heist. But of course Princey didn't know that, he realized with a flood of relief and weirdly painful disappointment. Somehow, after all _that,_ Creativity still thought Virgil was one of his creations. Virgil wasn't sure what that said about either of them. 

Princey looked nervous and uncertain, smile fading, so different from how he'd looked just minutes before. Virgil felt it like a knife to the chest. 

"Throw another ball and find out," he heard himself say, eyes meeting Princey's and glancing past him at Deceit. The other Dark Side jerked his head to the side- time to _go,_ the ball was over- and Virgil smiled tentatively at Princey's suddenly hopeful expression, then stepped back into the crowd. Deceit grabbed him as soon as they were out of sight, dragging him into one of the servant's passages and breaking into a run.

Virgil realized the rush as soon as they were outside: the faintest hints of sunlight were cresting over the trees, the whole horizon stained bloody- "It has _not_ been eight hours!"

"Time flies when you're having fun," Deceit snapped, pulling Virgil behind him as they dashed down the steps and into the woods. "This is the Imagination, so that _totally_ isn't literal- what were you _doing_?"

"Having fun?" Virgil offered weakly, panting as he tried to keep up. Remus' influence in his brother's kingdom only really held at night, for thematic purposes that Virgil didn't really get. If they missed their window- "Fuck, okay, if we don't make it I'm sorry and it was kind of okay knowing you except for when you were a total fucking asshole-"

"Would you please shut up and _run?"_

They only barely made it, crashing into the dark grove where Remus had set up his portal and prying the door in the tree open. Deceit pushed Virgil through and followed at his heels, both of them navigating easily in the dark, until they came out to a rancid smell and Remus' filthy, delighted expression. 

"You actually _did it!_ And here I thought you'd be dead by now, good job. Did either of you turn into a pumpkin?"

"We live to serve," Deceit said sarcastically, completely ignoring the question, but he was already relaxing, passing a fucking _epic_ sword over to Remus. It was the gothic ideal of swords. Virgil could practically _taste_ the edgy necromancer fanfiction. "By the way, Virgil, if there's something you'd like to share with the class-"

"Can I use this portal again?" Virgil blurted out.

Remus blinked at him, looking mildly surprised, then shrugged. "Yeah, sure, why not. Hey DeeDee, wanna see me put a lightbulb in my mouth?" Relief hit like a tidal wave and was immediately replaced with disgust. _What._

Deceit purred, "More than _anything_ ," and nope, that was it, Virgil was out. He didn't even care if Deceit was lying or not. Nothing good could come of this.

"Thanks, and also _please_ don't flirt in front of me ever again," Virgil said, already edging toward the door. Deceit waved him off, flicking a hand to put him back in normal clothes before he stepped outside; Virgil gave him a little salute and left. Minion-ing for today, complete. Now he just had to deal with the problems he'd created for _himself_.

No one bothered him on the way to his room, thankfully, but he could hear shouting and breaking glass somewhere down the hall. He scurried to his own refuge, flinching at every sound, until he could duck through his door into safety. Then he flopped onto his bed, headphones materializing around his ears, and clenched his fists in his hair. 

He was stupid. He was _so_ stupid. 

But the Dark Side was terrible, and Princey had asked him to come back, and if he thought Virgil was an NPC it wasn't hurting anyone, right?

Except Virgil, if his disguise fell through, since there was no way Creativity wouldn't kill him for the insult. A Dark Side trespassing in his space, impersonating one of his creations and bringing his guard down? Yeah, Virgil wouldn't blame him for going in for some _torture_ first, if only to warn any other Dark Sides off. Rage and Malice had done worse for less. Virgil was risking a hell of a lot by even considering returning, never mind returning _alone._

But he'd already promised, right? And Deceit would say that didn't matter and promises were a social construct or whatever, but Deceit hadn't been the one dancing with Creativity. _Virgil_ had. So he really didn't have a choice, right? He had to go back. He owed Creativity, sort of. In a way.

And if he could see that elated smile again, well. That would just be a bonus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author has never written romance before, so, uh. Be warned, I guess. And if something came off weird or stale pls tell me.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Virgil goes back— and only partially because he doesn’t have a choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to LostyK for beta reading!!
> 
> TW’s at end notes.

Jupiter was a speck on the horizon when Virgil returned two weeks later. He recognized it vaguely, secondhand knowledge like all the memories he got from Thomas, but he couldn't stop to admire the view; he couldn't focus on anything but his own dread, reflexive as the fear of a mouse in an open plain. He felt exposed. He felt like  _ prey. _

This was such a monumentally dumb idea.

_ Try to get another weapon, if you're so insistent on going back,  _ Deceit had said as he'd helped Virgil with his makeup. This time his face had the black silhouette of a spider over it, plastered over sleek white foundation and lined with obsidian glitter. Some contouring-based witchery made his face look more angular, less like Thomas's. Deceit had assured him that extravagant makeup was a common feature of Creativity's creations even outside of masquerade balls. He wouldn't stand out.  _ You owe me a great deal for this, by the way,  _ Deceit had said, which, yeah, of course Virgil did,  _ so I totally suggest you take something he'll miss. _

Virgil hadn't bothered asking why they needed weapons again. He knew the situation as well as anyone.

Thomas was getting older, more set in his ways. Every year it became less likely that he'd listen to anyone but his main three Sides, and more likely that he'd push everyone else into the Subconscious to rot, unconscious mind labeling them redundant. Virgil's skin crawled when he thought of it. It made Deceit tense, made Remus manic and determined, intensifying every gruesome thought that went through his head- but they weren't the problem. They were manning the sinking ship, sure, but the rest of the crew wanted to crash it into the port. The others weren't so much resigned to their looming eventual deaths as they were  _ sadistically furious  _ over it.

And they were taking it all out on Deceit.

Before, when Thomas still hadn't come out, Deceit had been able to negotiate, making temporary alliances and blackmailing others into keeping the peace, at least a little. He'd brokered a deal between Greed and Avarice so Greed would stop trying to claim every aspect of them both for himself, had kept the others from bothering Lust for long enough that the self-centered bastard managed some defenses for himself, had helped Entitlement avoid Jealousy so he wouldn't team up with Malice in his latest sadistic campaign.

Anything and everything that kept the Dark Side a little more stable, a little less torturous, had been because of Deceit. He'd kept Virgil from getting cornered and tortured to death on more than one occasion. He'd rescued Remus from an ambush that had managed to tie him down and hurt him for real. He'd helped Thomas lie, had let Virgil keep him scared and Remus keep him disturbed.

But then Thomas had come out, had started talking to the main Sides directly more and more- had settled into himself enough to be  _ comfortable- _

Deceit had gotten weaker. Virgil had gotten more protective and Remus more demented to compensate, but it hadn't mattered. The others had sensed blood in the water, always had a keen awareness of their place at the bottom of the pecking order, of how they were being pushed down. They'd known exactly who to blame.

Overnight, Deceit's influence had disappeared, and every one of the others had turned against him.

The artifacts weren't some joke, however much Remus loved the idea of taunting Roman with them. They were becoming a last-ditch effort to keep them all okay until their inevitable disappearance. Virgil's infatuation, as Deceit called it, was the cherry on top of an already necessary plan. A little  _ incentive _ .

Virgil was used to feeling like a terrible person. The guilt shouldn't have been killing him, but, well. When had his life ever gone according to plan?

Fuck, he hoped his outfit fit this ball's theme.

The castle came into view after he'd been walking for a few minutes, every window lit by firelight and floating lanterns. The moat had turned into a dark, glistening pool with occasional flickers of color below the surface. Virgil crept closer, clinging to the castle walls where he couldn't be seen from the ramparts or the front doors, and crouched to inspect the water more closely.

A pale luminescent koi fish slipped past his shadow, so close he could reach out and grab it, and vanished into the depths with a flick of its tail. Virgil wanted to touch it with an ache that bordered on actively painful. He wanted to feel if the scales were smooth or slimy, if the fish would be scared of him, if that effulgent glow would rub off on his fingers like sidewalk chalk- but that was the dumbest thing in the world, so he wasn't doing that. With his luck, a single touch would kill the thing, or alert Creativity to the presence of another Side. The koi could be a trap.

Virgil remembered the zombie sword from two weeks ago and swallowed hard. The whole dance could be a trap, if Creativity had connected the disappearance to his weird encounter on the same night. Virgil could be walking into a castle bristling with weapons. He could be strung up and gutted before he could choke out a single word.

But the zombie sword had caused a diversion that'd let Deceit get away from Malice  _ and  _ Greed, working together. Another weapon like that- one that didn't create monsters it took way too long to kill so they'd disappear and come back normal- could change a lot. Deceit could get some sleep. They could all be safe, for just a tiny bit longer.

Virgil alone wasn't worth making his allies miss out on that.

He tugged his clothes straighter, longing for the comfort of a hoodie and jeans, and straightened his aching shoulders. The bruises from Greed and Malice hadn't faded yet, so he'd had to adjust his clothes to have slightly longer sleeves- had gotten Deceit to cover the red fingermarks on his throat with makeup so Creativity wouldn't be suspicious about a construct getting strangled.

His heart was a trapped bird in his chest, shrieking desperately for escape; he was glad his face was already painted white, because otherwise it would've been obvious how much he'd paled.

"C'mon, Virge," he muttered to himself, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides, and marched up the front steps.

The woman at the door, resplendent like a peacock in green glittery eye makeup, bowed and said, "The masquerade is just inside! Be sure to choose a suitable mask."

"Mask?" Virgil asked, chest tightening, but she was already moving on, flitting from guest to guest with the same bright welcome in her eyes. Virgil bit his lip, probably getting black lipstick on his teeth. Mask. Last time had been a masquerade, but they hadn't had to wear anything special- was the change meant to catch him red-handed? Was it just Creativity getting bored and changing stuff for the fun of it? He couldn't tell.

This was a terrible idea and he was going to die, as long as he stood there blocking the door he'd catch the wrong kind of attention even  _ sooner- _

Virgil hurried into the castle and came into a huge lobby, with a table of colorful, glittering faces in the center. Leslie Odom Jr's fantasy lookalike was perusing the selection, dressed in shining pink; he finally plucked a bird mask loose, a hawk's sharp curved beak and dour expression, and disappeared into the crowd around the ballroom doors.

Virgil sidled up to the table and glanced over the selection, looking for something spider-themed. Spiders didn't really have faces that lent themselves to the pageantry of expensive Halloween masks from Hobby Lobby, though; after two scans of the pile Virgil gave up and looked for something black or purple instead, whatever wouldn't clash horribly with his outfit. The last thing he needed was to get found out because his fashion sense didn't match up with all the couture fashion dolls around him.

His eyes caught on a glimmering black deer mask, antlerless but with solid tapering ears and a delicate snout, like something out of a surreal Ghibli film. The eye-holes were deep black, glistening like velvet, but when Virgil pulled the mask over his face he found he could see through them anyway, colors only slightly dampened like in his room. The effect made his shoulders relax, resemblance to safety throwing him off.

Another guest jostled past him with a posh  _ pardon me,  _ and Virgil's nerves came back online. Suddenly his back was chilled, aborted shivers running over him like static electricity, and if someone had told him that every eye was focused right between his shoulder blades, he would've believed them. Any of these constructs could be holding a knife, could overpower him and drag him away somewhere at Creativity's behest, force him to his knees and tie his hands behind his back. If they all swarmed at once, he'd never be able to get away; he'd be like a scorpion landing on an ant's nest, not knowing the danger until it was too late to run.

The ballroom doors were right there, and Creativity kept his weapons deeper in; Virgil would have to sneak around and get the artifact first, hide it somewhere while he played his clueless role. Then he could grab it on the way out, slipping past while Creativity's guard was down, and he might get to see a hint of well-hidden relief on Deceit's face, a smidgen of hope that they might get another few days of uneasy peace.

He swallowed past the lump in his throat and slipped into the crowd, edging along the wall until he found a smaller door, half-blocked by a table, and squeezed through.

The sound of the crowd dropped off to a murmur as he let the door shut quietly behind him. The hall to the side of the main entrance was dimly lit with orange torches along the stone walls, dark enough to be homey and casting shadows along the tapestries hanging from the low ceiling. The floor held a fine layer of dust, disturbed here and there with scuffled footprints; the air was cool and stagnant.

Some spidery part of Virgil calmed. He crept down the hall, stepping into existing footprints where he could manage it, and studied the tapestries on the walls.

Most of them depicted Creativity defeating monsters, crown gleaming with gold thread and sword held high in triumph. Some were quieter scenes: Creativity sitting in a sunlit grove surrounded by warm forest, tilting back his head to look at the clouds; Creativity with a guitar in hand, serenading villagers; Creativity surrounded by scrolls with fantastical creatures leaping off the pages, contorting in medieval physiognomies.

Virgil traced a finger along the wonky outline of a red unicorn, absorbed the image of a field of white flowers with quiet, reverent awe. His breathing softened, not daring to disturb the delicate scenery. The weaving was so detailed it made his fingers itch, the thread of Creativity's image glittering like powdered opal. The pictures could have leaped off the walls.

Eventually, reluctantly, Virgil moved on. He had a job to do, and time in the Imagination moved in fits and starts, sometimes surging forward like a car with broken brakes. He couldn't afford to stand around appreciating artwork.

Farther down, the hallway widened into an empty dining room, thick oak table and sturdy chairs left abandoned. There was a jewel-encrusted goblet lying on its side in the center, opening shielded by a spiderweb; Virgil gave it a little salute, feeling dumb as soon as the whim passed, and found himself staring at three identical doors.

He inched forward, heart pounding, and pressed his ear to the one on the left. Something was breathing inside, heavy and wheezing; he jerked back, then checked the other two doors, but in each one the breathing was louder.

The power emanating from inside the rooms was unmistakable. The artifacts were here, guarded by Cerberus or griffins or whatever, and Virgil had to pick his poison. He'd promised Deceit that he'd try.

"Fucking fairy tales," he muttered, already shaking at all the ways he was probably about to be brutally murdered, and turned the knob of the first door, breath quickening with the urge to run.

The door clicked open, not even locked. Virgil pulled it back, shivering at the impenetrable darkness on the other side, and stepped inside. The door swung shut behind him.

Light trickled in, soft and hazy, dreamlike. Virgil's shoe nudged something over with a clink of metal, and he startled, staring down at a pile of bright new pennies. The floor was shining copper-red, covered in them; between the heaps of coins were other objects, left to themselves on pedestals or thrown together on shelves in the corner of the room. Virgil glanced between them wildly, ears straining for hints of movement, and risked stepping forward.

There was a long, low growl. Virgil froze, meter ticking to  _ fight  _ with a jolt, and clenched his fists- but nothing attacked. The growl came again, higher and fiercer, and its source trotted into sight: a sleek little Miniature Schnauzer, head barely reaching halfway up Virgil's calf. Virgil relaxed minutely, then tensed as he realized it could be a trick, a diversion or big trouble in a tiny package. Thomas had seen Monty Python. His Creativity was bound to know he could make something deadly into something  _ tiny,  _ as well.

The Schnauzer came closer, nails clicking on the pennies and stone, and regarded Virgil alertly, triangle ears and gray stumpy tail at attention. Its beard made it look like a gentleman, and its eyes were large and dark. "Hey," Virgil rasped, bracing for an attack, and slowly held up his hands. "Are you some kind of guard?" The Schnauzer made an  _ rrrr-rrrr  _ sound, less a growl than a doggy remark, and approached to sniff at Virgil's feet and legs. He offered a shaking hand, and it snuffled at his fingers with all diligence.

Then it licked his hand once, businesslike, and went to a pile of pennies by the wall to sit, curling its front paws under its body and watching Virgil with its head raised. Virgil blinked at it- what did that even  _ fucking  _ mean- then said, "Uh. Okay then. Thanks," feeling like the situation deserved some words.

He crept forward, scanning the items for anything that looked like a weapon, and his eyes caught on a plain silver knife. The only weirdness he could find was that the hilt was clear as glass, formed to fit its wielder's grip. He bit his lip, then kept looking, trying to find something more flashy.  _ Here _ was a music box with a gold-gilt ballerina twirling along its sides, Pepto-Bismol ballet shoes pointing behind her;  _ there _ was a shield with a rearing dragon beaten into it; a bundle of quill pens in shimmering metallic colors; a wooden sculpture of a dog with 'Buddy' etched into its side.

Not a good selection, especially since Virgil didn't know what the hell any of them actually did. He could choose some random artifact, but telling Deceit to figure out how to use a magical music box or an unwieldy scrap of metal to defend himself would be a dick move. His gaze roved back to the knife, the only real weapon he'd seen past all the knickknacks, and he reached out, waiting for the Schnauzer to leap up and attack or for Creativity to burst through the door with a battle cry.

His fingers closed around the hilt, and cold lightning snapped out and  _ took,  _ wrenching at a place beneath his collarbone. Virgil choked and stumbled back, dropping the knife back on the table; his hands flew up to his chest but couldn't find any blood, any hint of open wounds.

The knife's clear grip was flooding black, filling with ink so dark it absorbed light and gave nothing back, and as Virgil watched its blade darkened to a dull iron gray. Fuck, he'd  _ broken  _ it. If he was lucky, Creativity wouldn't notice until he came in to check on his things; if he wasn't, the other Side would be here any second and kill him, or snap his fingers and make chains come up from the floor and cut Virgil apart piece by piece until he finally bled enough to  _ die- _

The Schnauzer was on its feet. Virgil grabbed the first thing he could find and leaped for the door, slamming it closed behind him and cowering against it in case Creativity was outside, but nothing happened.

The silence remained, broken only by the most distant murmur of conversation. The dining room stayed forlorn and unused.

Virgil yanked off the deer mask and sank to his knees, forcing himself to breathe in rhythm, and took out the thing he'd stuffed in his pocket. The carved face of Buddy the dog greeted him.

Virgil put his forehead to his knees and groaned. _Great job, Anxiety, you got him a toy._ _That'll help when Rage gets his head out of his ass and teams up with Pride._

He pocketed the artifact again- at least he'd gotten  _ something-  _ and rose to his feet, brushing off his fancy clothes and pulling the mask back over his features. He had another promise to keep, however guilty it made him feel now that he'd stolen from the guy. 

The least he could do, if Princey was around, was offer him a dance. The sick nerves fluttering in his chest had nothing to do with it.

*

Reentering the crowd was like getting punched in the face by noise. Virgil flinched back on sheer instinct, mind telling him that any group of Sides all together was a  _ threat _ , a mob finally trying to take control- then he noticed the glitter and petticoats and flushed under his mask.

The weight of the dog statue against his leg felt like it had its own gravity, so noticeable it'd inevitably attract every gaze in the room, but no one so much as talked to Virgil as he crossed the lobby to the ballroom doors. They were thrown wide open, with a flurry of colorful figures swirling and chattering beyond them; Virgil steeled himself and dipped through, casting his gaze around for Thomas's familiar shape. One plus of all looking like the same guy: Virgil could recognize another Side's shoulders in a heartbeat, especially if that Side was well-fed enough to look like Thomas in real life.

The dance floor held a small quartet in its center: two violinists, a cello, and a singer with a nice alto. Virgil dodged around the edges, past a trio of bird-faced women and a man with a tiger mask and wrinkled hands. No Princey in sight.

His spirits sank. He'd considered the possibility that Creativity just had these fancy parties in the Imagination's programming- that it wasn't for  _ Virgil _ , only something that happened anyway- but for once he'd been hoping for a  _ best  _ case scenario instead of the worst. He swallowed, wondering if he could make his escape now with his dignity intact- and his gaze caught on a man on the floor overlooking the ballroom, wearing a red brocade dress coat and white trousers and somehow the realest thing in the room.

Relief hit all at once, closely followed by wonder. Creativity's face was hidden by a strawberry-red leopard mask, spots and eyes both glittering white. Virgil thought of his own deer mask and decided that if Creativity tried to kill him and throw him in a tree he'd kick him in the balls, stupid crush or not.

Creativity was on the mezzanine, leaning on the railing and resting his chin on his palm. Virgil crept upstairs and stood directly behind him, throat closing before he could speak.

There was an NPC chattering at the other Side, a short little hummingbird who sounded thirteen at most. "Prince Roman, my father the Earl sent me to request your assistance with an urgent matter," he was saying, petulant. "It's dreadfully important."

"I understand, really I do, but I'm  _ dreadfully _ certain it can wait for a few more hours," Creativity said, and Virgil's thoughts caught on the name the kid had used, turning it over like a scavenged ruby.  _ Roman. _ Remus's brother, who he'd never referred to by name, because it wasn't like Dark Sides and Light Sides ever met each other anyway.

Roman and Remus. Prince Roman. Roman  _ Sanders _ .

The name made everything feel a lot more real. Virgil resisted the urge to touch the stolen sculpture in his pocket and said, "Sorry to interrupt whatever you're talking about, but-"

"Virgil!" Creativity gasped, whirring around and making him jump. "You've finally arrived! I was starting to think you weren't coming."

"Figured I'd get here fashionably late," Virgil said, and was relieved his voice didn't catch. With the mask hiding his face, Virgil couldn't read Princey's expressions at all. He  _ sounded _ delighted and relieved, though, so Virgil added, "Sorry. Didn't mean to scare you by making you wait."

"I wasn't  _ scared _ ," Princey said, drawing up in offense, "only, ah, mildly concerned. Perhaps moderately concerned, like one might be upon seeing a runaway horse approach a cart full of watermelons at a busy intersection, while another person drives a hoard of pigs across the road- but that's besides the point, and really, I  _ have _ to compliment your choice in mask. It fits the rest of your outfit  _ magnificently _ ."

"Thank you," Virgil said, blushing despite himself. Princey complimenting his own work was a little weird, but hey, Creativity. It made sense that he'd get so into it. The silence dragged, and Virgil blurted before he could think better of it, "So, uh. Come here often?"

Roman snorted. Virgil flushed under his mask, beating himself over the head with  _ why would you say that _ , and Princey said, "I  _ do _ throw these things."

"You're not dancing, though," Virgil pointed out, and despite what he'd promised himself, the thought of joining this crowd put him on edge. There were so many more people than last time, and he couldn't read any of their faces, couldn't tell if they were smiling or watching him or glaring because they wanted to slide a knife between his ribs. Going into the crowd felt like wading into a pool of sharks. "What do people even do here if they're not on the dance floor?"

"There's always food and company," Princey said, and the hummingbird kid slipped away, unacknowledged. "Though of course dancing is the most vibrant and exciting part, even if it isn't always to my fancy. Would you prefer one of the other two options, Viscount Virgil?"

Virgil's mouth went dry. "Virgil's fine, my prince," he said, horribly thankful that the other Side couldn't see his face. "Also, food would be great, if you're offering." And if they could eat with these weird masks. Virgil was half-expecting it to stick to his face and change his behavior like the Halloween mask in  _ Goosebumps _ . He'd start trying to eat grass or something, maybe run around jumping fences and getting scared of loud noises.

... Not that he didn't get scared of loud noises anyway, but that wasn't the point. The point was he wasn't interested in becoming a deer, which probably meant he should figure out whether the masks came off sooner rather than later.

Roman brightened as soon as he spoke, whole posture cheering like a dog who'd caught sight of a squirrel. "Splendid! Come right over here, the servants have set up an amazing spread on  _ this _ floor, never mind the tables closer to the dancing."

Virgil followed him halfway across the mezzanine, catching the scent of braised meat and swallowing against the surge of hunger. There was a whole extravagant buffet, same as last time, except this time the table had benches. They could sit and eat right there, next to all that food, and no one could stop them. The feast was even safe to eat.

Roast chicken, glistening a deep reddish-brown and garnished with greens around the edge. Shepherd's pie still bubbling with warmth, meat-and-vegetable pastries, loaves of thick fluffy bread and bowls of fat round grapes, juicy green beans and moist vanilla cake and cool, sweet drinks Princey proudly called  _ cordials _ like that was supposed to mean something-

Virgil couldn't even name everything there. He just stared, trembling with want but not wanting to be rude, and Roman waved one of the NPC's over to fix them both plates, chicken legs and bread and mashed potato crusts all piled on top of each other like they were spilling out of a cornucopia.

The plate was warm in his hands, its base hot against Virgil's lap. Princey took off his mask, eyes just as bright and hopeful as Virgil remembered, and Virgil copied him, mentally thanking Deceit for changing up his makeup. Roman's eyes widened at the new design, but he didn't look suspicious. All he did was nudge Virgil's shoulder, looking pleased and proud and anticipatory, and wait for him to dig in.

Virgil wasn't sure he'd ever eaten anything so fast. He had to keep reminding himself to slow down so he wouldn't throw it all up, but just eating what was on his plate filled his stomach, sent sated warmth trickling through his limbs. The meat was so tender it was almost sweet, pie hot and savory and bread the  _ perfect _ texture, and when Princey offered him a chocolate-covered strawberry with an amused grin Virgil ate the  _ leaves _ , he was so distracted by the taste.

That snapped Roman out of his delight at Virgil liking the food- he'd been babbling about each menu item for a good ten minutes, eating bits and pieces but mostly watching Virgil for reactions. His expressions had done most of the talking for him, along with nods, but Princey hadn't seemed to mind. Now, though-

"Did you just eat the  _ leaves?" _ Roman asked, incredulous. "I was under the impression you were a spider, not a deer."

"It's pretty bucked up that you'd even say that," Virgil said before he thought better of it, and Roman laughed, sounding surprised. Virgil faltered. "You're the one hosting this. Don't- aren't you aware how good the food is?"

"I don't remember the castle chefs doing anything special to the  _ inedible _ parts of the strawberry."

"Shows what you know," Virgil said, risking a smirk. "A lot of things are technically edible, even if they're not all that fun to eat. You can suck out bone marrow for extra nutrients."

"Now you're sounding more like yourself, Black Wi- _ Doe _ ." At Virgil's incredulous look- that pun was a reach, okay, and he'd heard the emphasis- Roman said, "And bones are  _ not _ edible!"

"How would you know? They could have been the best part this whole time. You could've been missing out-"

"Oh, shut up," Roman said, then stared at the remnants of his chicken leg and experimentally shoved the whole thing in his mouth. He doubled over and choked a second later, food disappearing like it'd never existed, and Virgil couldn't help himself; he burst out in helpless snickers, covering his mouth to try to keep quiet.

"What was  _ that?" _

"Me, proving you wrong!" Princey blustered, sitting up and wiping his mouth. His cheeks were red with embarrassment. "Whatever you might think of strawberry leaves, you're certainly wrong about bones. I'll have you know that that was possibly the worst thing I've ever attempted to do with food."

"Pretty sure trying to shove any large food item down your throat is a recipe for disaster," Virgil said, still trying to stifle his laughter. Jesus Christ, he guessed Roman and Remus were more similar than he'd thought. "That doesn't prove me wrong, it just means your  _ methods _ are bad."

"Now you're sounding like Logan," Roman huffed, though there was an embarrassed smile teasing about his face. Virgil almost faltered at that-  _ Logan _ , was that Logic? Maybe Morality?- but before he could react Princey continued, "I've been meaning to ask, by the way- is there anything you'd like to tell me about yourself?"

Virgil's blood froze solid in his veins. "What?" he asked, adrenaline rocketing up so fast he  _ felt _ it coursing through him. He'd memorized the exits. He just had to get to one of them and, what, dodge half a million of Creativity's creations while running through his domain, who was he kidding-

"Your backstory," Roman clarified, grin falling to a slight frown. "Usually I'd have heard more by now, but you seem to be a little, ah, different, so I thought I'd ask. Do you have parents? Any siblings? Potential quests, perhaps, or valorous deeds that you yourself completed?" By the end of his list he was perking up again, apparently at the thought of an epic narrative.

Virgil tried to remember if Deceit had drilled him on a backstory and came up blank. "No parents," he said, which had the benefit of being actually true. "Or siblings, but I did grow up with a bunch of other kids my same age. Kind of crowded, back at the, uh, Western Kingdom." He shrugged. "I don't think I've done any epic quests, though, sorry. Mostly I'm just there."

"I suppose that makes sense," Princey said, and Virgil got the feeling the words weren't meant for him. "Would you come back for another ball?"

"As many as I can," Virgil said, just as honestly, guilt like molten metal burning him through. "You throw good parties, my prince."

"I try," Roman said, pinking. He didn't tug the mask back on, only held it in his lap; Virgil copied him, wondering at the differences in their frames. He was skinny compared to Roman, the same body with the skin closer to the bone, underfed. For a moment he was overwhelmingly grateful that Thomas had never had to be as hungry as him.

Roman looked like he was about to say something else, but he never got the chance. Something hit the high domed roof with a deafening crash, startling them both to their feet and sending the dancers below into hysterics. He got as far as blurting, "What the  _ hell _ , that's not-" before the cracks spreading across the ceiling caved in, sending chunks of rock crashing to the floor and revealing a huge, scaled claw reaching in.

Virgil didn't think. He flipped the table and yanked Roman behind it just as the dragon itself snarled through the opening it had made, whirling in their direction and roaring a challenge. That was the only reason the fire didn't hit them, when the dragon's roar scorched toward them through the air.

That, and the sudden weight of Roman's draconic shield over his back, Creativity leaping to cover their weak points.

"Stay down," Roman ordered, sending him an anxious glance and scrambling to his feet, armor and weapons materializing over his fancy clothes. "I'll take care of this." Virgil jerked forward to catch him, but he was too late; Roman took a running leap and jumped from the railing, landing on the ballroom floor in an easy crouch.

A prince, rushing a dragon who'd attacked his castle and his subjects.

A Side, running into danger alone and  _ unguarded _ when he hadn't even  _ expected a threat. _

The world narrowed to that last fact, every other consideration falling away. Virgil was over the railing after him before he had time to think.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: mentions of torture, mentions of death, implied/referenced malnutrition

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are always appreciated!


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